Foost turned his head towards young Pagward and rolled his eyes: “Seven I make that!”

Pagward put on a quizzical look as he said: “Hmmmm. Really? I must have missed one.”

This conversation, conducted as an aside, did nothing for the red and purple complexion of the man who had just asked Foost a question. A question to which he had yet to receive a reply.

Foost turned his head once more and pointedly examined the man from his shoes up to the top of his head before replying; “I do not know WHO you are but I do know WHAT you are.”

The man spluttered in indignation but Foost gave him no respite. “You are a self-centred blowhard; a braggart and a bully with potentially grave hearing problems. Which part of ‘The Margrave is not to be disturbed at this moment’ did you fail to understand?”

“Well I have never been spoken …”

“Then perhaps you should have been!” he interrupted swiftly. “You are the 7th …” he sneered the next word “… person … to attempt to bluster their way in this forenoon. You may go and sit with those that remain in that room over there which has been designated as a hospitality room; a room in which those like you without an appointment can wait, or you may return whence you came. I would add that on occasion pel is served there, but not on demand.”

“I shall see you are punished for …”

Foost again interrupted the tirade by simply turning once more to Pagward and saying: “Four.”

The man made a fist and drew it back but his face paled as the fist was caught from behind and a sword appeared at his neck. The guard growled: “I heard the Master tell you that the Margrave is not to be disturbed – and I heard that he did so three times. My duty requires me to protect all those in His Grace’s employ.” He smiled grimly and indeed menacingly. “It is up to me how I interpret the word ‘protect’. You now have an additional choice – the hospitality room, home, or a visit to, or perhaps from, a healer. I would prefer not to have to continue my day with a smiting, but the choice is entirely yours.”

The man’s belligerence was swift to drain away and finally the guard released the fist. The man huffed and puffed, twitched his clothing and strode over to the head of the stairs going down to the ground floor, muttering veiled threats which no-one could actually understand.

A peace of sorts descended on the ante-chamber. There was a low murmur from the three voices in the hospitality room, an occasional cough or throat clearing from one or other of the guards, a few sniffs and the like.

After nearly a quarter bell of this, a young uniformed man appeared at the top of the flight of stairs that came up from the large entrance hall below. The youth came directly across to Foost. He whispered something into Foost’s ear, saluted briefly and turned on his heel before swiftly making for the stairs to go back down. A moment or two later, a set of footfalls could be heard ascending those open stairs accompanied by a low murmur of voices.

Two quite scruffy-looking individuals appeared in the hallway and looked around. Foost indicated to them which door they should approach and said simply: “Vessel-master Volod?”

A swift nod was the simple reply and Foost opened the door to the Margrave’s offices. The deep bass tones of the leader’s voice emerged but not loud enough for anyone outside to make out the actual words. The voice shut off abruptly and then continued, this time distinctly: “If that isn’t Volod, heads will roll!”

“It is he, Your Grace,” called Foost as he closed the door behind the two newcomers.

Which event caused a miniature eruption of annoyed voices from the waiting room, the three men all talking at the same time.

“How come they get in? I am more important than them!”
“I was here first. I should be in there.”
“But my business is of the utmost urgency!”

Pagward walked over to the doorway to their room and held up a hand. He was surprised (but took care not to show that) when he was granted immediate silence.

“I may be young, and I may be learning my way, but there is one thing I fail to understand. Mayhap you can explain it to me?”

The three inmates all looked at him expectantly.

“Whence comes your arrogance? Who are you, any one of you, to try to determine the Margrave’s priorities and indeed his schedule? Do you know all the myriad of details that he must deal with? His time limits for certain results? No, you do not! And yet you have decided that you are the ones to choose who goes into see him. I shall make sure that he knows of this just as soon as I – who you may remember actually works directly for him – am allowed in there. I can assure you that he will not be amused and I dare say you shall have to toil even harder to persuade him to your point of view.”

Pagward watched the three carefully and silently remarked the single one of them that began to look a little ashamed.

… … …

“Very well, Vessel-master Volod.” he gave a wry little grin and an actual small laugh as he continued: “Strictly speaking, I suppose you could be called a Craft-master which might make some in our Guilds uncomfortable! You are hereby appointed the State’s Vessel’s Captain. We shall depart in just a little under a month’s time. We shall need to have a vessel suitable for a rapid passage and also a very clear and identifiable large standard that we might pass unhindered through what is, after all, still a war zone.”

“And the size of your vessel, Your Grace? How many people shall we be transporting?”

“Ah! I had not fully thought of that, I had merely got as far as thinking that a boat would be required. What sort of boat would have to be the choice of whoever I appointed as State Captain.”

He passed then into a deeply pensive mode, from which he emerged even as he started speaking again, with several pauses as he went along: “Allow me please to work backwards! I shall calculate first from those I shall require in Palarand.

“There shall be myself, of course, and, if I am interpreting all these signals and messages correctly, …” he gestured at a piled-up table with the hugest mound of parchments the Craftmaster had ever seen, “… I shall require yourself and two senior military officers to evaluate most of what appears to be becoming available. So that makes four.

“Then I really should have an honour guard of … let’s say eight men in all. Totals twelve.

“But the Palace in Palarand is not on the river, so I shall require to hire frayen and saddles and a carriage and driver in which to arrive which shall mean that your … let’s call it the ‘State Barge’ for the moment … shall need to remain at some riverport or other. This in turn will require at least four more guards for that - to look after the vessel, that is, along with your crew members. So that’s sixteen. Plus your crew. How many would that be, State Captain?”

Volod rapidly calculated: “We would need a cook - who could actually, now I think on it, also double as a quartermaster - and then we would also need a general steward to keep things stowed tidily and to arrange other matters whilst I am doing other things, like keeping us afloat!” He grinned then, an engaging grin that entirely altered his face. “Plus at least three crew to keep us moving along, Lagref …” he indicated his companion, “… shall be my ‘number two’ and I shall need two others for rope handling and looking out and so on and then an additional quartet to help with the rowing, probably used more on the way back, although I expect the hard rowing to be only on a few occasions since – but I must stress that this is in general – the wind normally blows the right way for us to be driven upstream. But first we have to get downstream. I would assume that some of your guard cadre could assist with rowing should it become necessary?”

The Margrave nodded his assent even as he said: “Assuming they are not needed for any fighting at the time, then they shall of course be available for your use.”

Volod continued somewhat musingly: “If we are in no hurry for the return, then that wind will be our greatest boon.” He stopped then, obviously going over in his mind what he had just said. His eyes suddenly flew open again. “Oh, and we shall need a pilot. I deem I shall have sufficient knowledge to get us to, and maybe just past, Yod, but after that my abilities as a pilot shall be negligible.”

He counted rapidly on his fingers. “So, without me, since I am already included in your total, that’s another ten. Lagref, two crew, four oarsmen, cook, steward and a pilot.”

“Reasonable, it would appear. So we would need accommodation for twenty-six bodies then. So the vessel must be large enough for all those, plus all the baggages and the supplies. And the arms. Can you think of aught else?”

“Not right at this moment, Your Grace.”

“Then let us make plans for say thirty in all, lest we must accommodate guests for part of or all of the way – although I confess I can at this moment not conceive of any such circumstances that might occur. I would suggest that the majority of us shall sleep ashore on most of the nights; the river still has such riverports aplenty, I am led to believe, despite the ongoing war?”

“With your standards flying, I am sure we would be welcomed in most places, Your Grace,” he then added a little cynically, “but probably at a jumped up price!”

The Margrave wryly grinned in acknowledgement. “Now the question arises as to the type of vessel. I must leave that up to you to decide, Captain. I should imagine that a normal barge would be too solid, too cumbersome?”

“And yet ’twould provide far more comfort, Your Grace.” He thought briefly before concluding: “So be it, Your Grace. I will get started immediately this afternoon. After all, a month is a VERY tight schedule for all that must be done. Lagref here can start hunting out the crewmen for the voyage, since we shall only want the very best for your service, while I search for a suitable vessel and the team we shall require to refit it.” Almost to himself, and obviously once again deep in thought, he murmured: “’Tis a shame that no Yussuf vessel is available at the moment. They apparently are all downriver, if not under the river’s surface.”

“Yussuf vessel?” asked Simbran which brought Volod back to the present with a start. “You mean Yussuf with the boathouse just downriver at Dymyr’s Lagoon?”

“Just so - the shipping and trading man, Your Grace. You may recall that probably he was, before the war, the foremost name in Faralmark’s long tradition of shipping and trading, although he has always tried to humbly keep himself in the background. He designed some special craft, very similar to a barge but faster and more nimble. He had them built downriver, in Smordan I seem to remember, where they used a better wood than he could obtain here. So successful were these vessels that many of us have attempted to copy them. They make the loading and unloading so much more efficient as well as the handling.” He paused then, a solemn look once more descending on his features. “But I am led to understand that they have all disappeared since the war began, like so many other of our vessels – and our crews!” He added the last phrase somewhat bitterly. “One of those, I deem, would have been almost perfect for this forthcoming voyage. Ruefully, I have not the time to get one of those built!”

… … …

A similar scene with Foost and Pagward repeated itself the next time Volod visited the Margrave’s Fortress. He was waved in without delay, much to the chagrin of those waiting and hoping to see the ruler.

“Thank you, Captain. You have done well. As you can see …” he waved an arm at the overflowing table the Margrave used as a message repository “… the messages and plans and decisions I must make are relentless, so I regret I shall not have time to visit the ship, not even for the naming ceremony. We MUST however depart in a week’s time. If there is any change to that, I shall hasten a message to your good self.”

… … …

“I hereby name this vessel the ’Spirit of Bibek’.”

A chorus of ‘Heard and Witnessed’s almost drowned out the noise of the ceremonial and simultaneous smashing of the three pottery wine mugs - one at the stern, on the top of the rudder post, one at the foot of one of the masts and one on the bowpost that the sailors amongst them called ‘the stem’.

Master Volod turned to the man who had done the naming: “Thank you, Harbourmaster. It was kind of you to stand in for the Margrave at almost the last moment but he regrets he has far too much to do in the limited time he has available.”

“Quite understandable, Volod, if what I have just this morning heard is true. It would appear that the Yodans have yesterday fled from Upper Fanir, all except a small part of their army which was deployed to protect any incursions from the Upper Fanir uplands. Part of our forces have been diverted to make sure these last are held where they are, whilst the majority have hastened after the retreating Yodans to the choke point that marks the beginning of Lower Fanir.”

“That is so, I deem. We must now rush this good vessel down to Faralan to pick up some of the senior soldiery that have marched so swiftly down there.”

“And then onto Palarand, I hear?”

“Indeed so. Hence the so-early start this morn. I am to take the Spirit down to Dymyr’s Lagoon – the one where the three boathouses are – to there load the men and all the stuff that the Margrave shall need on this … procession, I suppose. Those stores are being delivered there now even as we speak, and it is not yet … oh, I lie … it is now exactly the first bell of the day.”

“You have chosen well, I deem. A ‘Houario’ boat seems to be the right combination of size, speed, manoeuvrability and sturdiness.”

Volod started at the Harbourmaster’s accurate use of the name of the type of vessel, a name that came down from the days of the Habaran Empire. He smiled widely as he said in reply: “I have not heard that correct term for many a moon! Nowadays the name has been corrupted by the less well educated to be a Hooray Boat.”

“I shall give you an ‘Hooray’ as well as priority then when you are ready to leave, to ensure the minimum of delay.”

“Grateful, Harbourmaster. Most grateful.”

… … …

“Place that there, and the other in an equivalent position on the other side of the barge. We must keep things balanced. That’s why we created the so-called ‘cabin’ layout that we have.” Namba ran his experienced eye over the working ‘labourers’.

But after barely three breaths, all activity ceased as the men saluted and bowed to the Margrave who had now stepped onto the boat unannounced. He acknowledged them with a wave of the hand and then turned to Captain Volod: “Good freshness, Captain. Allow me to introduce my guards. Leading them is Twick Joot …” the Margrave pointed to the young file leader, “… and behind him, from left to right we have Blades Bokes, Heen and Wennes. We will be picking up more soldiery when we arrive in Faralan.”

All the men acknowledged each other as the Margrave turned back to Volod: “Talking of which … you have done well this morn. But, as we know, time is pressing. Shall we still have time to load all that …” he used an arm to indicate the great pile of boxes and crates that still littered the jetty “… and reach Faralan tomorrow evening?”

“’Twill be quite tight, Your Grace. But, if you give permission to your four soldiers here to row with us when it becomes necessary, I deem we shall make it. Other vessels may curse us as we race down the centre of the current, but with the stream and the broad sails, as well as the rowing, we should progress most swiftly.”

“How may I be of assistance?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do such menial tasks, Your Gr…”

“Nonsense man. Speed is of the essence. Now, let me carry that crate there. Where shall I place it?”

Captain Volod was about to reply when a fresh thought struck him. “Er … If it pleases you, Your Grace?”

“You have a question, Volod?”

“When we reach Faralan. Shall you require that any of we of the crew shall accompany you? Or shall just you and your Blades be away from the Spirit for a while?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I expect to be in one or more quite intense meetings with whoever is in authority there nowadays, so I doubt any of your crewmen will be dragged ashore.”

“In that case, Your Grace, then I believe we may simply load everything on the jetty onto the upper deck here of our boat, and we can use the time of an evening while we are moored wherever we shall be to unpack and stow more accurately. Namba here is our on-board ‘housemaster’ and shall ensure the load is coarsely sorted even as we toil here. Ask him for the destination of any crate!”

“A splendid thought, Captain. Let’s do that. So for now, we just need to clear the jetty.” So saying, the Margrave stripped off his doublet, handed it to Namba, and leapt easily back onto the jetty to pick up a waiting crate.

“Hold!” commanded the ship’s captain who quickly clapped his hands to gain attention from everyone. He wished to make what he considered to be a very important point. “But that does not mean we can just toss those burdens anywhere and anyhow. We need foodstuffs near the galley, for example, and we need to ensure the boat stays reasonably level, we cannot have everything simply strewn along one side or at one end, that would make the vessel list or pitch uncomfortably. We shall all carry what we can, but Namba here shall direct us as to the placement.

“Let us commence, if it pleases Your Grace, with your personal chests and stow them here aft in what shall be your cabin. Namba can run an eye over the piles of the other stuff still ashore so he can do a rough sort in his mind.”

“Captain?” asked Namba.

“Yes, Namba?”

“I daresay that I can also make a start stowing things away even as we are underway. The rowers shall be on the deck beneath us right now and the cabins are all up here – admittedly maybe not high enough for us all to stand upright in – but this area will not require too many men to be about their business as we travel. This will also enable me to list anything I think we shall need that has been overlooked somehow. Such replenishments can be made in Faralan, I would assume.”

“Excellent thinking. Right then, let’s make a start moving that great pile from the shore.”

“As you desire, Captain,” said Simbran as he turned to his small cadre of Blades. “Come men, we are safe enough here. One of you keep a watch, the rest lay down your arms and let’s get sweaty. Rotate the watchkeeper as you see fit.”

And so they swiftly reduced the piles of crates. As they did so, it became apparent that Namba was an intelligent ‘housemaster’ who would most likely take reliable responsibility for the smooth running of all non-nautical matters. Both the Margrave and the Captain were pleased and swiftly became quite certain that most things in what was now Namba’s domain would go smoothly.

The four guards, three of them at any one time, and the half dozen or so crewmen worked alongside the two leaders - and all of them worked up a thirst with the manual labour, so much so that the Margrave told Namba to organise a dockworker nearby for a large bucket of cooled and watered wine to be delivered, having seen how things were going a good half bell before they finished. This offering was soon gratefully swilled down the parched throats of all the men even as the Captain was issuing orders to prepare for their departure. The upper deck was still covered with loose piles of boxes awaiting final stowage but at least the piles were organised!

… … …

“There! There will do!” announced Volod as he steered the Hooray Boat towards a gently shelving, more shallow spot on the Pakmal bank. A stand of trees on the upriver side would allow a rope to be tied securely around one or more, which would later aid them in refloating when they wished to get themselves off the river bed. Scars on the boles were evidence of the frequency with which others had performed this operation.

“Have YOU used this bay before, Volod?” asked Simbran.

“Aye, Your Grace. Quite often, but never with a vessel quite as large as this! Nor one with quite so deep a keel. We must experiment a little Your Grace and trust the Maker has our best interests at hand.

“Over there, behind those few kaskh bushes, is a suitable pool for bathing, which I suggest we all do before we start out on the final three-quarters of a bell of our journey. If you look over there, you can make out the buildings of Faralan itself, so we need merely to cross the river and slowly approach the port. You did say that you had sent word of our arrival, Your Grace?”

“I did indeed. So they shall be expecting us and hopefully have a berth available already.”

The Captain expertly guided the boat to the shore where the crewmen made it secure. Once satisfied, Volod gave permission for half the men to scramble down and go into the semi-private bathing pool to wash the sweat and grime off, sending Lagref along with them so there was a responsible officer on the deck when he himself went to tidy up. The Margrave also went along with the first batch but found that the men were too embarrassed for him to be naked with them, so he simply climbed out and let them relax whilst he stood off some ten or so strides back towards the boat, wrapped in a large drying cloth.

As he stood there, one of his guards was sent from the boat to discover what the problem was. “No real problem, Bokes, it’s just that the others felt awkward with a naked ruler in the same pool as they. I shall attend here until they are finished, wash myself alone and then simply return to the barge wrapped as I am now.”

“Your Grace!” the shocked armsman replied. “We cannot let you be alone and out of our sight. I implore you to have at least one of us Blades or Twick Joot nearby at all times, at the very least in eyeshot.”

The Margrave sighed heavily. “Very well, Blade. So shall it be. You can await here with me until the others are done and then watch as I do my ablutions. When I am finished, you yourself can freshen up. By which time, I expect the second half of the men to have caught up with you. I can then return to the Spirit and dress in more formal uniform.”

Bokes turned and made a complicated signal with his arms, letting those on the boat know that all was in order.

“So what did you think of our ride down here, yesterday and today?” asked Simbran to fill the time as they waited.

“Errrmmm, Your Grace …”

“No!” interrupted the Margrave. “Don’t let my rank tie your tongue. I am also a man, and we may freely converse here as we stand alone, can we not?”

Blade Bokes coloured but realised that his ruler spoke the truth. “Your Grace, I must confess I found it exhilarating, even though my heart was in my mouth a couple of times. The overnight on that unnamed little island was more comfortable than I had expected. Then this morning, when that funny barge decided to turn so cumbersomely across our bows with no warning, I was sure we would all be swimming shortly!”

“Yes, that was indeed a close call! As was it when that Pakmali galley attempted, so it seemed, to flag us down and stop us. Captain Volod handled the Spirit magnificently then.”

And so they chatted on for the next while, until Twick Joot appeared, clean and dry, and demanded to know why Blade Bokes was standing here.

… … …

“Your Grace, be welcome here in Upper Fanir! I am Steward Berm and this is my wife Eginet. The large man there is my brother Wallis, he shall arrange for your baggages to be transported to the Count’s Mansion. Between us, we look after what was Count Herik’s Mansion but which has now passed on to his son Count Darkwin. Count Darkwin himself wanted to be here, but after his war injuries, bright sunlight such as we have here this evening troubles him, and he therefore sends his apologies.

“You know of course Count Olva and Countess Lagavet from their time spent in your own fair land. The Count and Countess are acting as mentors to Count Darkwin as he regathers his strength.

“Most of these other men are what remains of any senior military ranks here in Upper Fanir, and I deem we shall be here half the night if I am to name each and everyone standing here about to greet you. More shall be revealed at the dinner table this e’en. The hand of men over there in blue work tunics next to their carts report to Wallis and are here to carry your baggages to the Count’s Mansion where you all can be accommodated tonight.

“I see you have four of your armsmen with you. Captain of the Field Woltass here has also brought down an honour squad of ten men – Blades I believe you term them. I would suggest that your vessel is guarded by a half dozen of those fourteen Blades through the night. We are no longer at war but there are certain dissatisfied factions with the potential to cause problems. And there is still a degree of poverty around. After all, only a few days ago we were still suffering under the harsh rule of the Yodan invaders. A positive is the fact that you may be more selective as to which baggage we should carry up to the Mansion, the guard being in place meaning that some could be left safely on board.

“Oh, and not knowing your precise time of arrival nor the precise number of personnel involved, we have arranged an easily prepared dinner which, of necessity, is mostly of cold meats. There shall be soups to warm you, but we regret not being able to honour you with a repast worthy of a state dinner. We shall serve such a meal half a bell or so after our return, if that suits you?”

“Steward Berm, I thank you for the charming and widespread …” his eyes flickered over the thirty or so men and women who had gathered there for him “… welcome. I shall follow your suggestions and request Woltass to assign the guards we shall require for watching over the ‘Spirit of Bibek’.” He cast a glance at Woltass who saluted and nodded. “And we shall be grateful for anything to eat and drink after a hard day’s journeying. Please do not feel embarrassed by your offerings.”

He turned then to the others, his surprisingly deep baritone voice taking on a louder tone so that those at the back might hear him without difficulty: “As for the rest of you, I acknowledge your presence, I thank you for honouring us so and I look forward to meeting you each more formally a little later.”

A general murmur of agreement was returned from the crowd even as Woltass instructed the Twick he had brought down with him to select the other five members of the overnight guard squad.

“Oh, one other thing! Steward Berm, would there be room in this Mansion for our crew too? We have five permanent members and four hired oarsmen as well as the Captain whom I shall require to be with me.”

Berm nodded agreeably and confirmed that there was sufficient room for everyone. He turned and led the way up the pathway/road to the Mansion. Within two hands of moments, the entirety of the crowd, that is all the arrivals and their chests as well as the somewhat swollen welcoming committee, had managed to gain the protection of the stout and sturdy walls of the Mansion.

The Steward ushered the Margrave before him into the capacious entrance hall where the Margrave’s attention was immediately drawn to a small group of women, one of which detached herself and approached him, dropping into a very pretty curtsey as she got to him. She was wearing an expensive gown and extremely tasteful jewellery.

“Your Grace, I am Housemistress Orlet …” the Margrave struggled to contain his surprise over the fact that so apparently young a girl had such a high rank in the household and was so very well dressed. “We are but recently, very recently, delivered from our durance vile and are still finding our feet and establishing routines and the like. I regret that my staff have, at this moment in time, very few resources. We are making the best we can with what we do have.

“Now, I see you have no women in your entourage, so deem that you men might be readied a little quicker than might otherwise be. I have assigned Wallis to be your manservant for the duration of your stay. After a long day, I am sure we shall all enjoy the meal we have prepared … and with your permission, I shall instruct my staff now to start heating the soups. ’Tis just after the half bell now, so may I say we shall dine at the next full bell?”

Again, the Margrave used all his tact to prevent any surprise crossing his face or entering his voice. This young woman had an easy air of command about her that totally belied her apparent age. But her station as a servant in this establishment did not gel well in his mind with the way she was clad, her choice of words and her easy authority.

“Mistress Orlet, I thank you for your forethoughts and deem that your suggestions are both sensible and should indeed be acted upon. Captain of the Field Woltass there suggests I should inspect my forces that are barracked here, and then I shall merely have to change a doublet, so I doubt that even I could spin all that out to more than a half bell.” He smiled at the girl who smiled charmingly back at him before she coloured slightly and dropped her eyes demurely.

Once more the Margrave had an internal fight – he studiously avoided being obvious whilst he was inspecting the girl who had a good figure that her clothes subtly emphasised; a shapely feminine rear, a quite narrow waist, longish legs and a generous bosom. But something in the back of his mind wanted to understand the apparent dichotomy between her age and her air of command.

And there was also something else ... but he knew not what.

After being shown to his room – VERY well appointed, he approved – he followed his senior Captain of the Field down to the barrack quarters where he was again approving of the accommodation provided for his troops.

… … …

Simbran took care to speak, however briefly, to each of the people seated around the huge table. Again he hid his surprise when the Housemistress was one of those. Not only that, she had not been relegated to one end of the table or another, but was afforded a space that would normally be for those more exalted. He was aware that the back of his brain was worrying and fretting at these conundra, but neither his face nor his tone betrayed any of this.

As a result of his insistence upon including all those present, the topics covered at first were mostly generalities, but he did gain one small answer that started to ease his mind until he thought far deeper about it; whereupon, it seemed to him, more questions suddenly hit him like a flood.

Having been relieved of the discomfort of a harsh Yodan rule only a few days prior, then it was suddenly apparent that the ladies gathered here had not for some time been able to dress in their finery. They acknowledged that the clothes most of them wore had been hastily altered to provide the women with some finery in his honour, and that young Mistress Chara as well as her obvious friend Mistress Orlet had been clad in the murdered Countess Silet’s no-longer required formal gowns.

Another little clue came when it was revealed that Orlet was also a niece of Steward Berm’s and Chara was his daughter.

But why should these two be granted the benefit of fine silks and satins? And expensive jewellery, as opposed to say Eginet? And the pride with which Orlet wore that very becoming gown was somehow more than just a feminine awareness of how good she looked. And, Simbran had to acknowledge, she did look very good indeed. Almost regal, came a further thought.

That surprised him actually, a surprise in and of his own mind. Regal was the right word and yet was at the same time shocking to him that he had thought it.

… … …

The meal was over and all were ready for some serious discussions. Count Darkwin had earlier sent his apologies once again, complaining of a most dreadful headache. He promised, however, to meet his newly arrived guest first thing in the morning.

Simbran let his eyes roam around the room, mentally assessing what he now knew of the persons behind the faces. His eyes passed over the efficient Housemistress and he must have allowed a small frown to appear on his face.

“Something is amiss, Your Grace?”

“Not at all Steward. Mistress Orlet’s staff have done us considerable honour in providing such a fine repast and such delicious wines.” He paused as the assembled diners all banged on the table in agreement. “I frowned merely because I find this arrangement of personnel to be unique in my experience. Your Housemistress seems very attentive for someone so young and of such a rank. This is for me unusual behaviour as compared to other houses and mansions and palaces I have visited.”

Everyone present pretended not to notice Orlet’s face aflame.

“Your Grace, we desire to run an efficient establishment here and to that end we have determined that Mistress Orlet shall attend as many of our meetings as possible, that she may learn what might be expected of the household in the future.”

The explanation seemed to the Margrave to be a little contrived somehow. Simbran flicked his eyes sideways towards Olva who, with a small fleeting frown and the slightest of nods, attempted to reassure the Margrave.

Smoothly the visitor returned his attention to Berm. “Ah, Steward! A novel way of training that appears to have much merit. I shall consider that on my onward journey down to Palarand. Perchance, I could be permitted to return here to see how successful it has been once I make my way home?”

“Your Grace would, as always, be most welcome!”

Discussions then turned to the Faralmark forces in Upper Fanir and eventually the Margrave turned to his senior officer: “Woltass!”

“Your Grace?”

“I should like you to accompany me down to King Robanar’s lands. I hear rumours, but very few facts, of many new changes there, which we shall have need to evaluate. I would fain have your advice. And Senior Captain Hannar also has valuable merits. The two of you shall travel with me, at first aboard ship although we shall need to hire a carriage when we reach Palarand. I deem we shall have a guard with us of eight men when we arrive at Robanar’s palace, so shall detach four men to guard our ship when we leave it. The ship’s Captain can also travel on with us, but his men shall remain with the Spirit.

“Thus select a deputy to take charge of the Faralmark forces here in Fanir, find some reliable guardsmen for our trip, include the ones I brought here in your pool from which to select, and meet me back at the ship a bell after dawn with the men you have chosen. One of ‘my’ four is a Twick who seems efficient, so much so that mayhap we would have no requirement for a Platen; you did say earlier that junior officers were currently in short supply here.”

“Your Grace!” said the man as he straightened his back and saluted before spinning on his heel and marching out, Orlet holding the door for him as he went.

Discussions on various topics continued through the rest of the evening. Once Simbran frowned ever so slightly when he saw Berm glance at Orlet and get a confirmatory nod back from the girl. This was on a topic that surely was not within a housekeeper’s purview. But no-one else in the room would have caught his reaction and he remained outwardly as imperturbable as always.

… … …

“And where IS Mistress Orlet, Mistress Chara?”

Chara coloured slightly but answered swiftly and surely: “She has some matters of a female nature to deal with so early this morn.” She then clapped her hand across her mouth and coloured even more.

“Excuse me for embarrassing you. My impressions last night were that the two of you are very close friends. I was surprised that the Housemistress had not turned up to escort me to Count Darkwin but had sent you to do so in her place. I had not anticipated that my feeble attempts at light conversation as we make our way to the Count would be of a more … intimate nature than I intended.”

“Your Grace, it is I who must apologise. Mayhap I should have concocted some story rather than just blurt out the truth as I did. But alas my brain is just a feeble woman’s and I could not conjure a sufficiently intricate story so swiftly. And you have been so nice and considerate with us, I forgot for a heartbeat that you were not a part of our family.”

“I find myself inordinately pleased that you could consider it so. But come, Mistress. Let’s put this behind us. Tell me what you can then of living under the yoke of Yod.”

“There was one patrolman,” she started bitterly, “we all particularly disliked, not simply because it was he who had murdered Count Herik and Countess Silet, but because he was generally a most unpleasant man. Several of the girls around here were assaulted and their fathers could do nothing about it. The man himself had a dreadful way of undressing you as he stared at you, practically drooling.”

“Oh! How dreadful. I suppose you must have been happy when the Yodans left so swiftly?”

Chara coloured and looked uncomfortable. Somehow, Simbran knew she was lying to a certain extent when she said; “Oh yes, Your Grace. That was a happy day indeed.” And yet there could be no denying that the last sentence brought her both great joy and yet also great sadness.

“Curious!” he thought and then opened his mouth to try to ascertain a little more. He had no time however to take that conversational thread any further as they had by then arrived at Darkwin’s door.

Somewhat hurriedly, Chara knocked perfunctorily and ushered the Margrave in, saying to the Margrave: “Someone else will await you, Your Grace, when you come out, and shall bring you to the breakfast room.”

Chara then performed the introductions and scuttled out of the darkened room almost without stopping.

“Very curious!” thought the Margrave briefly before concentrating upon his latest surroundings. He looked around and saw that the room was darkened to a far greater extent than he had anticipated. The figure of the Count was sitting hunched in a well-padded chair off in one corner, wrapped in what appeared to be several blankets. Behind the chair rather than beside it, a single candle was alight, whilst two other corners had flickering flames on long handles. In a wider part of the room, better illuminated, Count Olva raised a hand in greeting.

Simbran, as politeness dictated, addressed himself first to the beshadowed invalid: “Good freshness, Milord Darkwin. And Milord Olva.” he added as he swung his head around to the second Count.

Darkwin replied, in a voice that somehow sounded rusty, as if its use had been recently very infrequent: “Your Grace, so kind of you to come and visit. I am so sorry for the lack of hospitality on my part, but that wretched Yodan who killed my parents, slammed both my head and my shoulder. I am improving but it all seems so very slow, not like the active life I had before all this.”

“Milord, I am grateful that you have found the time and strength for me. I will keep this visit to pleasantries if you desire, but there are some weighty state matters that mayhap we should discuss. I will, with your permission and if you so desire, delay these until my return, for I am underway on a river trip down to Palarand. I could call back in here on my journey home and provide details of those matters I discover whilst down there with King Robanar? Or we might profitably spend a little while now discussing what I may be able to do for you whilst I am down there. I shall be meeting most of the leaders of the lower Sirrel countries.”

“Ah! I understand. Hmmm, I should have liked to have a little longer to think on these matters and to discuss them with my advisors.” Olva and Darkwin exchanged looks. “So mayhap, we could indeed await your detailed report upon your return. My country has been gravely wounded by the invaders, and I must first think of how we are going to rebuild and regain strength – just as I must do myself.”

“A most sensible reaction, Milord. Should I discuss anything in greater detail with Milord Olva before I depart this very morn?”

“I deem that maybe ’twould be a sensible thing to do, but only if you have time.”

“Yes, time is so very important these days, is it not?”

“When the Yodans were here, it seemed that time had slowed down and we all suffered as if in a durance most vile. But even those hard times came to an end, so I deem we have all learned far more about patience than ever we expected to. So mayhap, when you are with the others downvalley, you could ascertain just what they intend to do to prevent anything like these Yodan atrocities from ever reoccurring.”

… … ...

And so it came to pass that Simbran left Darkwin to his suffering shortly after that, and he and Olva had some discussions about the depths of various political matters and thoughts as to the progress of the war. Breakfast was scarcely noticed by the two as they continued their dialogue.

No more mention was made of the domestic arrangements in the Count’s Mansion and soon the passengers of the Spirit all gathered on the jetty next to the vessel. It came as a small surprise to Olva when Simbran had a quiet word with him just then.

“That housekeeper business intrigues me, Olva.”

The Count’s brain worked feverishly. He was oathbound not to reveal more of the Orlet story and yet he felt the Margrave might spend a while trying to get to the bottom of the matter. His long association with the Margrave meant that he knew the man exceeding well.

Olva made sure the Margrave saw him look carefully around before replying in a whisper: “Your Grace, the natural leader of Upper Fanir is now Count Darkwin. Several ambitious men might try to dispose of him, so his very whereabouts, indeed his very existence, has been kept in doubt. I assure you that Darkwin is in fact making some good decisions.”

“Yes, that was my impression when we met him earlier this morn, before we all broke our fasts – but I still understand not how the young Count, who according to Steward Berm may be shortly elevated to be a Duke, can make such decisions. How can he have knowledge of each of the sides of an argument?”

“Ah! Very good. You have picked up on that. Well, I can happily tell you that the Count is kept informed in great detail because every meeting of importance, every word spoken, reaches his ears via Mistress Orlet.”

Simbran’s eyes widened. “Ah!” he breathed. “Clever!”

Olva was left uncertain as to whether or not the Margrave had actually understood the full picture.

The most dangerous point?

---

Disclaimer:

The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
This story is copyright © 2023 Julia Phillips. All rights reserved.

It uses some of the associated characters and situations that arise from the world called ‘Anmar’ created by Penny Lane, whose stories
are also copyright © 2010 - 2023 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

---

 

As Simbran was talking to Count Olva on the jetty where the Spirit of Bibek was tied up, Volod noticed that the ship’s Steward, Namba, was talking animatedly with Delith, the ship’s cook and quartermaster. He sketched a bow to the Margrave and the Count, not wishing to intrude upon their conversation, and hastened over to the two other men.

“There is a problem?”

It was Delith who answered: “Not really, Captain! Just a minor delay. When it became obvious that we would not be casting off so early as Namba and I anticipated, then I took the opportunity to create an extra order for stuffs that I have discovered are not in my galley. We could have departed without them, but I thought ’twould be best if I got them whilst we were still in some form of civilisation as I deem we shall have some stops that are far more crude on our way later.”

“Indeed, that is most likely!” said the Captain with a smile. “But why the animation between the two of you?”

“I too had the same thought,” replied Namba. “So I too sent off for some last minute little things. I had not realised that Delith had sent the same man on his task, so the man is delayed in returning. He had promised to be here a quarter bell hence.”

“I cannot believe the delays we have had this morn,” sighed Volod. “Why, with but scant exaggeration, ’tis nigh on time for our midday meal and here we are still tied up to a Faniri wooden pile! If the Margrave decides to eat before leaving then no doubt we shall also have to have a nap.”

But Simbran came over then, having taken his leave of Olva. He laughed as he heard Volod’s last words. “Have no fear, Captain. We are free to sail now.”

“Just two last-minute stores orders to arrive, Your Grace, then we can make our way. I shall order the men to raise the sails but keep them furled for now; we shall extend the outboard oars into their ports as soon as the stores arrive and we can make an orderly departure with minimum fuss. The ship is pointing directly at the harbour exit and no other craft is in our way at the moment.”

“Very good! May I step aboard?”

The Captain flushed. “Of course, Your Grace! Forgive me!” He stepped exaggeratedly to one side and swept an arm as if to usher his ruler onboard.

Simbran just laughed and skipped lightly onto the now cleared deck.

Twick Joot issued a few curt orders and three of the waiting Blades stepped aboard as well, whilst the rest made a semi-circle around the embarkment point.

Volod turned to Lagref who was also stood on the waiting deck. “Are all the men aboard, Number Two?”

“Aye. Indeed so, Captain.”

“Break out the sails upon the masts, but leave them furled for now. Then have Joliv and Temasp attend each of our mooring ropes and have the oarsmen in position for our departure.”

“Aye aye, sir. Break out furled sails, then hands to mooring ropes and oarsmen to positions.” All the men involved needed no further instruction and it all seemed very professional to the watchers ashore.

The timing could not have been better for the sails were dealt with just as the stores they were waiting for arrived on a handcart. The three boxes were swiftly loaded onto the Spirit by the dockworker who had been despatched to get them. They were left, as had become the norm, upon the upper deck for Namba and Delith to deal with later.

The Captain nodded to the Twick who then ordered his men to climb aboard. They were soon all stood easy in the centre of the deck, in two files.

At that juncture, Captain Volod held aloft a bright red flag in his left hand and looked towards the controlling tower for the port. Almost immediately, a green flag was waved from there which response was acknowledged by Volod waving his flag from side to side.

Dropping his flag, Volod called: “Crew of the Spirit of Bibek, riverside oars ready, jettyside oars push us gently away. Let go forward, let go aft.”

A chorus of “Aye, aye”s replied.

The ship eased away from the jetty which caused Volod to loudly approve of the oar handling. He strode over to the steering sweep at the stern.

“Lagref, take the stem look-out for now, please. Joliv and Temasp, break out the sails. I deem we can use them all today with this wind.”

“Aye aye,” shouted each of the men so ordered.

The sails filled with a general bang and the Spirit seemed to jump eagerly forward once again towards the mighty River Sirrel.

… … …

Nearly three bells later, Volod and Temasp, with Matent and Maerni (who were two of the oarsmen) and two of the Blades (Harill and Keefle) were idling on the upper deck, forming what Volod had named the ‘emergency crew’. If the ship should happen to slip its moorings here, then at least there were just sufficient men aboard who could sail or row her back.

Everyone else was on the island feeling dozy after an excellent repast produced by Delith from very ordinary ingredients. The cook was flushed from the praises sent his way. That meal break in perfect weather on a deserted island was an occasion that had lifted everyone’s spirits.

The Spirit herself was gently bobbing on the sparkling waters immediately downstream from a sizeable island, the upstream end of which was raised enough to have some permanent vegetation growing thickly there. Two sturdy ropes held the bow of the ship against the island sufficiently closely for a steeply angled plank to stretch down onto the muddy sand, this gangway being enhanced with several horizontal strips of wood to create a firmer footing. This had proven to be most beneficial as the equipment and stores had been carried down onto the island and would no doubt be equally so when all the stuff had to be carried back aboard.

The steady wind had carried the smoke from the cooking fires away from the men and had also kept them cool as the sun blazed from overhead in a clear blue sky. Simbran idly wondered if he could be quite so content later in the year when the temperature would have been most uncomfortable.

Now that the pans had cooled sufficiently to be loaded back aboard – as Lagref had reminded them: “Hot metal and wood should be kept apart; fires are started with less provocation, and we don’t want to burn our boat beneath us!” – Delith, Joliv, Namba and Lagref himself started packing the ship’s belongings together. Four of the nine remaining Blades (Heen, Wennes, Fergos and Jonees) picked up a chest each to deliver to the foot of the gangplank. Twick Joot called Bokes and Graden to him to brief them on their next task when aboard.

Darob it was who called the warning, but it was too late. Only he, Lonnid and Colha were in any position to immediately react to the sudden bursting of a force of ten men out of the vegetation, which force swiftly surrounded the men on the barer part of the island. The Twick and his guardsmen were disarmed very quickly and thus left the Margrave totally unprotected except for the two senior officers standing next to him.

Volod reacted well by immediately making two men draw up the gangplank, thus making it difficult for these marauders to climb aboard the Spirit. He was, however, all too aware that the defenders of the ship would be extremely vulnerable to any crossbows the attackers might have. He could only watch on in frustration as the leader of this band demanded to know who was in charge of the men he had now captured.

The indignation in the Margrave’s voice was blatantly obvious to all as he responded. “And who are you to question the progress of the Margrave of Faral?”

The leader actually took half a step back and looked uncomfortable. But he could not be seen to be diminished in any way in front of his men, so he responded by sneers and ultra-sarcasm. “Oh, the little man with the big voice, eh? I wouldn’t know a margrave if it was at home. What is one of those?”

“I am the ruler of the country of Faralmark. I am underway from my home to Palarand. You interfere with us at your peril, whoever you …”

He was interrupted by an obviously coded bugle call series.

“Shiba-bubufu,” swore the scruffy leader. “There must be a patrol boat nearing! Yes, look there, downstream on the other side. Back lads, as quick as you can. We’ll leave these wastrels alone. You and you, grab what swords you can for they are of better quality than ours and then dash back to our boat whereupon we shall outrun those wretched patrollers. Quick now.” So saying, he turned and ran for the bushes.

The Margrave’s armsmen knew they needed to keep their swords so they immediately took measures to hinder the two designated thieves whilst avoiding serious injury to themselves. They were sufficiently effective that the raiders ran off with but four of the swords. That small action cost the defenders two minor scratches that drew blood.

And then things changed.

Lonnid and Colha had hidden themselves in the fringes of the bushes as soon as the pirates had charged; Lonnid now emerged and skewered the surprised leader, who was looking behind him to make sure his men were following, even before he had a chance to shout. Two more of the raiders fell to the swords of these two armsmen; the remaining seven, in two small bands, one of five and then the two designated sword-stealers, shuddered to a halt in total confusion.

The pause gave time for Twick Joot to issue orders without waiting for any of his senior officers, who were smart enough to remain silent lest they sowed more confusion. The Blades swiftly ran to re-arm themselves, regroup and to advance menacingly upon the hapless raiders. Knowing they now faced a superior force, both better trained and better armed, they soon threw down their arms and begged for mercy.

This was then a major problem for the Margrave.

His agile brain had realised that there was little to no extra space aboard the Spirit for prisoners, certainly not for this many. They also had yet to deal with the vessel that had brought these raiders to this isle. He discounted immediately any thought of slaughtering the miscreants, but would he have to delay his trip to stand guard over them, whilst the Spirit went in search of some local authorities?

Whatever he decided, the captives would have to be controlled and he nodded his approval as Captain of the Field Woltass detailed one of the Blades to run to the Spirit to get some spare rope from the stores with which to hobble the men. He then started discussions with the senior men, examining every way they could think of as to how to continue.

Some moments later, as the conversation went round in circles yet again, a small shout drew his attention to the bushes from which a bleeding Darob had suddenly appeared. Simbran strode over to the wounded man, flanked by his two senior commanders.

“Report, Blade!”

“Their boat is departed, Sirs! They had two gangplank guards stationed, one of whom spotted me in my hiding place in the bushes and crept up on me. I was fortunate in that I saw him just as he attacked me, a rustle somehow alerted me. His sword shattered on mine and I then managed to kill him with a single thrust. The officer on board shouted that he dare not hold place any longer, and they must needs depart. The other guard scrambled aboard, dragging the gangway with him. And off they went, with some difficulty for they were shorthanded.”

“Did you see any other vessel?”

“Yes, Sirs. There was a vessel approaching from downstream, beating up against the current. The bandits attempted to flee and this new vessel gave chase.”

“Very good, Darob! Go and report to the Cook, let him arrange some bandaging.”

The Margrave nodded his agreement and then resumed his discussions with the two seniors.

“I suppose that helps, somewhat. I was going to await that patrol vessel. But what I suggest we now do, is that we lightly bind the prisoners so they cannot disturb our departure, and we simply sail away, reporting our actions to either the patrol vessel should we encounter it, or to whoever is in charge at wherever we select to overnight. The prisoners will thus be rescued by either the authorities, or by their companions should they evade any pursuit.”

Volod had come to join the men and interjected at this point: “Your Grace! Over there on the right bank of the river is a small riverport, named Tysoe. ’Twould delay us but briefly, if we put in there to make our report. And, with no criticism intended, that is a Pakmal village used often by those of us who float, so they are used to strangers a’calling. They – and I cannot believe I am actually saying this about Pakmal – are likely to be more efficient than any secluded village over there in the remote southern wilds of recently-occupied Upper Fanir.”

“Ruefully, I must acknowledge your point, Captain.”

“What about the bodies, Your Grace?” asked Senior Captain Hannar.

“The prisoners will be able to loose their bonds quite quickly, so I deem we can leave that task to them. We’ll leave them with firelighting abilities to allow them to cook something whilst they attend their fate. Maybe, they might construct a pyre!”

And so it transpired. The prisoners were fully informed, not just abandoned, and some of them actually expressed gratitude for the clemency with which they were treated.

As it happened, they didn’t need to stop at the riverport. They crossed the path of another boat that was heading there, so they passed on the messages to this other vessel and continued on their way.

… … …

“Why ’tis what always used to be called the Yodak river, Your Grace – a constructed name that was used to show the demarcation between Yod and Pakmal. That entire side valley was divided between the two nations and provides each with the easiest access to their respective upland areas. However, it was a very early victim of Yodan aggression and aggrandizement, so they renamed it to be the ‘Yodan Waterway’ and took over control of the entire thing, not keeping to just their side of the stream all the way up there. Mayhap soon we can return to the old name once more.”

A few nods showed Volod the general agreement from the senior men present. Simbran hid a satisfied grin. He was already aware of the naming changes and the recent history of Yodan expansionism. He was, however, intrigued enough at the view to see the side river tumble down into the Sirrel, to actually lay eyes on it rather than read about it all on a sheet of parchment.

… … …

“Fanegada, Your Grace. I have used their facilities several times and would describe them as crude but not totally lacking in a degree of comfort.”

“Very well, then. We shall attempt to find a comfortable night there.”

The steersman adjusted the course of the Spirit and all gathered together to make out what they could of the riverport they were now approaching. All were a little anxious for it was almost in Yod and indeed had until recently been under the yoke of Yodans. Perchance, there were still Yodans there. Caution would have to be their watchword, even though they were under the supposed protection of their large orange and yellow Faral flag.

They had finally arrived in a stretch of the river with Yod on the right bank and Yodan-recently-occupied Upper Fanir to their left. Borne swiftly by the current, with the aid of the wind in its sails hanging from the two masts (and the bowsprit), the Spirit had made remarkably good progress towards their ultimate destination, still many marks distant. But they were aware that they had reached a zone of great danger, against which many voices had warned them.

“Remember all, all that we discussed whilst sailing this afternoon. Never assume that we are alone, never assume that we shall be left in peace. Always have at least two Blades on alert for intruders. As a ruler of a country not at war, we should be left to have free passage. But there is no guarantee that we shall indeed be afforded such courtesy. Captain Volod has performed superbly to manage to get us this far …”

“’Twas the current and the very unusual winds today and yesterday, Your Grace! I confess that I never before expected to be able to reach Faralan in so much less than two day’s sailing from Bibek, especially after our somewhat delayed start! And we have made a far swifter passage today after our somewhat extended stop for luncheon.”

“That’s as maybe, I was impressed by the way we have sped along the water, even if it did upset a few other ships that we used the central track of the speediest current. Those two ponderous galleys that attempted to stop us were deftly evaded, I congratulate you, Captain.”

Volod was unused to receiving compliments, especially in full sight and vision of a vessel’s entire complement, so he didn’t know how to respond. He just blushed and gave a salute to the Margrave without actually saying anything more.

With some relief, he returned to concentrate upon his duties of guiding the vessel to the shore.

… … …

“Volod!”

“Your Grace?”

So began the next decision-making confabulation.

“Where do you feel we could replenish our stores now we have given most of them away?”

“If I might answer you in a roundabout way, at least at first, Your Grace?”

Simbran waved a somewhat impatient hand so Volod hurried on. “We shall soonish come to a divide in the river, where the Sirrel parts to sweep past what has always been called Lower Fanir Island. The two branches created by this are known by the names of the two larger villages or towns that stand near this bifurcation. To the left, where the shorter waterway starts, we would enter the Brio Branch. Along there, at first, the river passes between the two Fanirs, Upper to our left and Lower, which is of course the island, to our right. We would there be, at least theoretically, away from Yod.

“On the other hand, the branch that would take us to the right is known as the Wadek Branch. This branch passes between Lower Fanir, the island, and Yod itself which, as you know, lies to our right even now.

“Now the island was a very early casualty of the war and was rapidly absorbed into the Yodan conglomerate, as was the entirety of Lower Fanir and then most of Upper Fanir. After our experiences last night, then I must hesitate to suggest that we will not have a great deal of flexibility of choice of supplies if we maintain our course along the Brio Branch.

“Despite the distaste we must have for the Yodans and their methods, I must confess that we shall likely have better supplies, indeed a far better choice of supplies, if we then keep to the right and go down the longer Wadek Branch.

“But you have indicated all along we wish to descend the Valley as swiftly as we might, so I must therefore ask for a decision from you as to our route. Once that is established, then I can better answer your question about our stores.”

The Margrave acknowledged Volod’s words and turned to his advisors, one of whom carried a chart showing the twists and turns of the Sirrel in this region. They had all been shocked and depressed by what they found in Fanegada; Captain Volod had told them that the place was a fishing and riverport with agreeable welcomes, basic but nourishing food and particularly amiable chats.

What they had found was a near-derelict fishing village, with plant life already encroaching at the edges and a population of ageing men and women with but a few young and bewildered children. Most of the fishers’ boats had been damaged, several to the point of ruin, and, wickedly, all the able-bodied men and women had been rounded up and marched away to Maker knows where. There was no-one left behind strong enough to work sufficiently hard to keep adequate quantities of food coming in and a general air of despair and resignation had overtaken them all.

The passengers and crew of the Spirit had all been shocked and angry at the callousness so starkly illuminated in front of them. Far from Volod’s reported agreeable welcome, the pathetic desperation and begging welcome they had received was so strongly moving. The visitors had done what they could to provide some limited succour and all had at long last, after bells of toil, overnighted aboard their Hooray Boat.

“Yes, gentlemen, I fully understand that someone should be here to work with, help and support them. But I, as the leader of a foreign nation, must also look at a much wider viewpoint. You are all gathered here for one task, which is to assist me to get to Palarand, help me once there and ease our passage back to Faralmark. Before we departed Bibek, after many discussions, we pared down the personnel requirements to that which we considered to be the barest of bare minima.

“We must be clear-headed about all this. We have not just happened to stumble upon the only village in such desperate straits, so if I were to leave someone here, and it would have to be at least two of you, then do the same thing at the next village and so on, then my mission shall never be completed. And that could have serious repercussions for the entire nation, if what I gather from messages I have received is even halfway true. I am sorry, but we MUST forge on. And we must have ALL of you.

“However, I promise we shall inform some authorities of the situations we have encountered. If necessary we shall return to Faralan to make certain someone there is in the know.

“Now, we are all extremely tired if not exhausted, let us now regain some strength through sleep and consider it all in the morning.”

And so it came to pass that the entire company, many with heavy hearts made more onerous by the desperate pleading from the villagers, decided they must continue downstream all together.

As they departed in the morning, they promised to somehow arrange help and assistance.

Fortunately, once back on the river, they soon encountered a barge destined for Faralan so they forcibly passed on the urgent messages onto the vessel that was now making its way upstream with a noticeably added urgency. The encounter helped many of the company feel a degree or two better.

For the next bell, they travelled on in almost total silence, each turning over in their minds the cruelty to which they were now witnesses.

“Volod!”

“Your Grace?”

“Would it disturb you too much from your duties here, if I and a couple of others were to engage you in conversation and decision making?”

“No Your Grace. I shall be able to cope adequately.”

“Our immediate journey, have you …”

“Ah! I have many thoughts about that and was waiting for you to bring it up.”

“And there are also other questions we have.”

“And they are, Your Grace?”

“Where do you feel we could replenish our stores now we have given most of them away?”

“If I might answer you in a roundabout way, at least at first, Your Grace?”

And so the discussions started.

“… so I feel, with the wind and the current helping us, we should have just the one night in Yod or in Yodan-held lands. I deem I can pilot us as far as Ferenis but once there we would need to engage a more experienced pilot. And Ferenis Town is on the far side of Ferenis so we have no chance of making it there without an intervening overnight.

“Considering everything, I deem we should keep our involvement with Yod as short as possible so would recommend we take the Brio Branch and we should, just about, be able to reach Rufen, which is in Lower Fanir and is the opposite slip to that of the Yod City ferry. I would aim for that being tonight’s stop. Then the next day we would be clear of Yod. We could replenish in Rufen, I am sure, but maybe we should do a swift stop in Brio itself to cover our own basics, so we have a ‘just in case’.”

The Margrave looked at all those gathered with him, each of whom nodded their agreement.

And so was the decision to take the Brio Branch taken.

… … …

“What the …?”

“A problem, Volod?”

“Potentially, Your Grace! In all my years, I have never seen it like this. So many craft all bobbing about in the same place! Please allow me to study this and think on it.”

The Margrave nodded as Volod issued his orders: “Temasp, go and relieve Lagref and keep a sharp eye out as our forward watchman. Send Lagref here that he might relieve me so I can ascend the foremast to get a better view.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

The others talked amongst themselves whilst Volod was aloft, all trying to make sense of the seeming chaos in front of them, a chaos which was approaching quite rapidly. Senior Captain Hannar made a suggestion which Volod not only confirmed but also elaborated upon when he returned to the group about a quarter bell after he left them.

“I saw many men on both banks. On the undeveloped left bank which is still in Upper Fanir, and also there on the right bank in Brio itself. And it looks like the men are being ferried to Brio, with some urgency. Which is then understandable as to why Brio harbour is almost impossibly crammed with vessels of all sizes. However, I don’t really understand it all, for Brio is on an island that Yod control already so why would they move their arm… OH! Of course, these are the men RETREATING from Upper Fanir!”

Hannar added: “Indeed so. And the littoral narrows considerably at the border between Upper and Lower Fanir, so they probably have a large choke-point there. And that is not much further along the left bank.”

There was a general chorus of “Ah!” and the men were about to launch into further discussion when there was a shocking interruption from a bevy of boats not too far ahead of them. There was an obvious command boat directing traffic which was surrounded by several smaller ones. The incident started when one of the smaller boats began shouting up at the command one. Tempers frayed and the voices got louder and shriller.

Suddenly, two men stepped forward on the command boat. One was holding a shortish piece of metal which looked like a pipe, but with a slightly flared out end. It looked to be just a little longer than the man’s forearm. They watched in fascination as the man raised the pipe and nestled it into his shoulder, using a previously unseen shaped wooden rest. He directed the other end of the pipe towards the argumentative boat which reacted strongly by trying to back away. Some of the men aboard it leapt overboard and tried to swim. The man with the pipe nodded and his partner stepped forward holding what looked like a length of cord which he dangled near the pipe man’s face.

A huge roaring bang and a sudden cloud of smoke enveloped the pipeman, but the watchers from the Spirit of Bibek were horrified by events on the smaller boat. They stood, appalled, as they saw several men were flung backwards bloodily and a part of the boat disappeared entirely. The river rushed into the vessel and, within mere heartbeats, the boat sank beneath the hungry waters.

A stunned silence descended.

… … …

“I must formally complain and shall do so as soon as I am able, Boat Leader.”

“I care not! You are now in Yod …”

“Incorrect. Lower Fanir!”

A grimace of annoyance was plastered on the Yodan’s face as he continued without acknowledging the interruption “… and are therefore subject to Yodan law. We shall search your vessel and ensure you are not spies. We have no proof that you are, as you claim, a leader of an entire country in the Great River Valley and shall therefore examine what we like, when we like. Your vessel is hereby impounded and you all shall be held awaiting trial. This is why I have had you brought here. As the chief witness against you, then the trial shall be whenever I have time to attend. I am unimpressed with your recalcitrance and shall make sure the court becomes aware of your obstructive behaviour. Now form up in a li…”

“What’s going on here?”

The Boat Leader swung round with an angry look on his face; a look that swiftly disappeared as he recognised the man striding towards them, but nevertheless with an obvious limp. He stiffened to a very precise attention as he saluted: “Port Director, good afternoon!” He also acknowledged the man beside the Port Director. “Under Officer Tang!”.

“Ah! ’Tis you, Horrian! I have been looking for you to investigate the discharge of a Thunder Pipe earlier. From your boat, I gather?” began the Port Director.

“Yes, sir. I had given orders to a ferry vessel that they chose to disobey. The helmsman of the bo…”

“Yes. Yes.” He waved a hand to interrupt the flow of words. “I have heard the story from other witnesses. Now tell me what this latest episode with you is, and why you are not at your post afloat doing your duty.”

“I have arrested these men, Sir, for being spies. I am about to put them in chains. They have concocted a fantastical story about being the leader of an upriver land named Fartlemark or some sort like that. The little man there, at the front, appears to be the ringleader. Some are undoubtedly the crewmen of their ship, which as you may see when we return to the water’s edge, is of an unusual construction. But they then are guilty of facilitating spies, and are therefore also the enemy.”

The Port Director turned to Simbran and announced: “I am Port Director Lambian Felomihunter. Who are you?”

“We are a delegation from Faralmark heading to Palarand for private discussions with King Robanar and with Queen Terys and carrying private messages for the Queen from her family in Stirmond.

“I myself am the leader of my country; you would do well to remember that we are not at war with each other.” The unspoken word ‘Yet’ was nevertheless loud enough for everyone to hear. Simbran continued: “My title is Margrave, and as such, by treaty and by convention, I am entitled to a free passage along the river with neither let nor hindrance. My status is indicated by my standard flying at the stem of my State Boat. You may address me as ‘Your Grace’.

“The messages I carry are as sacrosanct as any conveyed by the Valley Messenger Service and I shall report each and every violation with a view to getting all of Yod’s message privileges revoked.

“I demand that our vessel is released immediately into our care and we are allowed to progress as soon as we are all aboard and have checked that your uncouth louts have done no damage, nor broken any seals.” Simbran allowed his simmering anger to show as he stood in front of the Port Director and folded his arms across his chest.

“You see, Director, this is an obvious pack of bluster and lies. We do not recognise his standard on his unusual boat, nor the colours these men are wearing. Why, even a …” Horrian again trailed off into silence, this time as both Lambian and Under Officer Tang twisted their heads around to glare at him. Simbran, Woltass and Hannar felt a little jolt of hope; maybe these two officers DID recognise their colours.

The Port Director was about to speak further when yet another voice called out. “I am Senior Army Captain Hannar of the Faralmark Forces. I recognise you, Director Lambian. We have met, albeit briefly. You have grown your beard considerably since then and your limp is now more pronounced.

“I was part of a Faral delegation to Pakmal for some trade talks and you were there with a Yodan delegation for some other unspecified purpose. You at least must recognise our colours and sashes. To assist your memory,” he added swiftly, “I am forced to admit that this was a while before Yod started invading neighbouring countries, and neither of our ranks were quite so exalted back then.” There was no disguising the lack of approval in his voice.

Lambian flushed slightly at the implied criticism but at least he took notice of the words. “I regret my memory does not extend to recognising you in person, Captain. However, I recognise the occasion.” He turned to his assistant: “Tang, fetch a squad of your own and then meet us at the gangplank to this foreign vessel. In the meantime, we shall have to put a cease to the what now appears to be an illegal inspection; at least until we discover the truth of the matter.

“Horrian, gather your entire squad and crew and meet me on the wharfside by the so-claimed Faral boat, even if some of them are currently onboard it. Get them out immediately.”

“Yes Sir!” both his juniors replied in unintentional unison.

“All you who claim to come from Faralmark, follow me back to your craft.”

The Faral contingent all looked at each other. Simbran called out: “Back to the ship, everyone, in an orderly and quiet fashion! For the moment, control any anger.”

Woltass looked at the Margrave quizzically. Simbran whispered to him: “They are on a knife edge. Any excuse could trigger a bloodbath or incarceration. We desire neither. We must be extremely careful. But they now know that we are ALL angry.”

And so the large group retraced their footsteps to the wharfside where Port Director Lambian gathered all about him. He held up a hand for silence, which he was granted, even as he impatiently waited for Boat Leader Horrian to noisily gather his entire squad together at the designated location. Soon, all persons were gathered as he had commanded.

At long last, he spoke: “Look round - all of you; first at the foreign boat here moored. The wind is strong enough to stir the large standard flying at its prow. We can see the yellow and orange colours that match the uniforms and the sashes of the men who were travelling upon her. This is a first indication of the truth of their claims.

“And I can confirm Captain Honnar’s, or whatever his name is, statement that I do recognise the colours of Faralmark. My memory is also still accurate enough to remember that the leader of this country is entitled ‘Margrave’. A second indication.” His voice harshened. “And yet you, Horrian, have decided to ignore the evidence that abounds before your very eyes and have jumped to a baseless conclusion. As a result of which, you have declared these men to be enemies and spies. Your impulsive nature has nearly brought your country to a war with another land.

“It would appear that you were over-hasty earlier too and as a result have destroyed an entire ferry and several of our soldiers retiring from the front for some rest.

“The Ascendancy of Yod is fighting battles to bring our values of implacable efficiency and clear superiority to all the other poorer nations in this valley of the mighty Sirrel. It is incumbent upon us all to plainly demonstrate our unwavering dedication to examining all the factors before making decisions. Tang!”

“Yes Sir!”

“Take your squad and place all the members of Horrian’s group in chains.” A collective gasp of worried surprise rose from Horrian’s men. “They must learn to be less impulsive. A few months rowing on a galley will get the message home. Then send someone to find a replacement crew to operate Horrian’s vessel. We still require some form of control out there on the water.”

A very surprised Tang said: “Aye, aye, Sir!” and, using hand gestures and nods, he watched as his men bound those of Horrian, amidst a cacophony of pleas for mercy and the like. A single man of the new squad was despatched to arrange for the replacement crew.

“Return their weapons to them immediately. I shall invite each man amongst the ones so-far designated as foreigners to inspect his weaponry to guard against any … accidental … substitution.”

There was a general melee as this was performed, with a certain amount of reluctance in some cases. Two of the Blades complained that their swords had been changed for inferior ones, so much shouting ensued. This went on for a little while until the Port Director’s patience ran out. All disputes were suddenly resolved once his angry face was observed and his angry tones were heard.

“Horrian!” then shouted Lambian above the tumult. “You are to kneel in front of the Margrave and beg his forgiveness.”

Horrian looked at him, completely shocked.

“Do it!” shouted Lambian commandingly.

The Boat Leader slowly moved and began to lower himself to his knees in front of Simbran, very obviously reluctant to do so. It was plain that he just did not, ever, beg for forgiveness. He was in fact angry with the Margrave for causing this situation, for he knew that he himself had done no wrong. In fact, that fool of a Port Director has been the one who had over-reacted and blown this all out of proportion.

Finally, his inbuilt sense of obedience meant he was on his knees albeit with a defiant look upon his face.

Lambian then said: “It is clear to me, Horrian, that you have been promoted all the way up to your personal level of incompetence. Now let me hear you ask for forgiveness. Nice and loud so that all here gathered may hear your utterances.” He unsheathed his sword to add to his threat.

Horrian, still defiantly, looked at Simbran, a real challenge in his eyes. He shut his mouth demonstrably. He would NOT apologise to this man. His face became even more surly as Lambian impatiently added: “Disobedience is an offence against the State!”

Which surly look swiftly disappeared when Lambian swung his sword and cut deep into the Boat Leader’s exposed neck.

… … …

Nearly all the men aboard the Spirit had helped clean the ship before they took their hurried departure. Several had vomited at the spectacle which had made such a mockery of the much-vaunted “rigorous Yodan efficiency” as Lambian had required four or five increasingly hectic swings to finally decapitate the kneeling Boat Leader.

Even Under Officer Tang, who had by now been assigned to the Spirit until it was out of ‘Yodan waters’, had eventually emptied his guts at the brutality. He was accompanied by two taciturn armsmen and they all were to share a cramped space aboard the vessel allocated to them with a marked lack of grace by Namba. They had been ordered to accompany the Margrave on his passage through the so-called ‘Yodan waters’ to prevent a recurrence of the events that had so delayed and angered Simbran and his companions.

Shock had helped many of the company control themselves whilst ashore, but, once they had regained the familiar ‘territory’ of the Hooray boat, then relaxation meant that many of them were violently, loudly and stinkingly ill. The stench was such that even the three Yodans joined in. Namba was outraged as his hitherto orderly domain was so sullied and privately thanked the Maker for keeping the mess outside of any of the accommodation spaces. He went and fetched buckets of water with which to swill down the upper decks and the sides of the hull, the physical chore helping him to partially forget the recently observed horrors, but ’twas only to a slight extent.

Not that he did the scrubbing himself. He decided that those who made the mess should be the ones responsible for that. His grossly affronted air and his self-imposed busyness was sufficient to hold himself immune from succumbing to the general malaise.

Simbran, Woltass and Hannar had managed to control themselves sufficiently to give no visual clue to others of their inner turmoil, and Volod held back out of sheer determination not to be seen to be so disadvantaged. Lagref also just managed to control himself, but his fight against it was obvious to all.

Surprisingly rapidly, the Spirit was returned to its usual clean state.

Volod barked out orders to the crew who were pleased to have something to do, something to take their minds off the revolting spectacle they had all witnessed. Only after he had started, did Volod realise that, strictly speaking, he should have obtained Simbran’s permission. But the latter just waved a hand in obvious agreement. Everyone wanted to be away from this brutal place. Oars were unshipped and made ready, sails were hoisted and soon deployed, lines were cast off, dragged aboard and coiled. The ship itself seemed eager to leap away from that dark and perturbatory wharfside.

Simbran stood stock still at the rail that ran along the side of the deck. Staying rigidly in place, his eyes were locked on those of Lambian, who gazed back almost unblinkingly, demonstrating not the slightest degree of remorse, despite his clothing still being liberally blood-spattered. Both men were glad to be granted an ever-increasing distance apart, their contrastingly different views and thought processes were never going to align. Neither would ever be able to understand the other, should they ever meet again.

The vessel had departed even as the evening shadows were beginning to draw in, leaving even without replenishing any of their stores. All the Farals aboard just wanted to get away. On the water, so many various craft were about that it was almost a battle to thread their way out of Brio port and to regain the relatively peaceful Sirrel; they left many disgruntled water-goers in their wake.

… … ...

“You men are an unwelcome necessity. You have no authority on this vessel. Your job is to ease our passage when we inevitably encounter more of your overly officious countrymen. You should be aware that Captain Volod there is in charge of this ship; his word is paramount. If he says something, issues an order, you obey it immediately and with neither hesitation nor querying. I myself, the leader of his nation, am subject to his discipline; I am aware that I am not clever enough to know all the details as to why he may say we need to do something, but I am also aware that he may be trying to save our lives in a dangerous situation, or mayhap attempting to save our floating home.

“Anyone, Faral or …” at this point he put his face close to Tang’s to add emphasis to his words, “… Yodan who disobeys in any way, shape or form, will be immediately put ashore and abandoned. Do I make myself clear?”

Tang, obviously somewhat rattled, replied: “Yes!”

Simbran raised his eyebrows and gently said: “That would be ‘Yes, Your Grace!’ then.” The very gentleness with which he spoke added great import to his words.

Tang’s own eyebrows reached for the sky. He swallowed nervously and said: “Oh yes! Of course, Your Grace!”

Simbran then looked both intently and quizzically at the two armsmen standing either side of Tang. Neither of them spoke but hastily nodded in acknowledgement. Simbran once again noted the engrained obedience of the common Yodan soldiery.

He redirected his attention to the Under Officer. “And Captain Volod will always be addressed by any of you as ‘Sir.’” He let that thought sink in for a moment.

… … …

“Tell me more about yourselves, then. We are to be shipmates for a short while, so it makes better sense. I know all three of you would rather be elsewhere, but you are not, so let’s deal with realities and try to make the best of what you consider to be a bad job.

“Let us start with you. I know your name is Tang and that you are an Under Officer. It seemed to me that you too were shocked by Port Director Lambian’s excesses. Do you perhaps question to yourself the righteousness of his actions? And tell me, what rank does Lambian hold? Is a Port Director the equivalent of anything I might know?”

“Errrm, Your Grace.” started a stuttering Tang, almost embarrassed to be the centre of attention of so many senior ranks and also his two underlings. “A Port Director is the same rank as a Tributant. But I am aware that that might not really mean anything to you who are not of the Ascendancy. I confess I know nothing of the areas outside of our nation, save that most of all the other landsfolk live in poverty and are waiting for we of Yod to come and release them from their vile durance. And …” he said suddenly forcefully and with a certain waspishness “… their leaders deliberately keep them that way to maintain for themselves their usual luxury.”

He was about to continue when Simbran’s raised hand stopped him. The Margrave turned to the next Yodan: “And do you also believe this great pack of drivel? Your name please, armsman?”

“My name is Kaal, Your Grace. And that is in essence exactly what we have been told by our leaders.”

“Thank you, Kaal. And what about you?” he said turning to the third Yodan.

“Stawmead, Your Grace. I confirm what the other two said, but hasten to say that I do not believe it all. My byname is ‘Shoalcatcher’ and I have had to, on occasion, take refuge with my fishing boat in foreign ports or harbours. I have seen things that directly contradict the normal statements made about foreigners.”

With a meaningful sidelong glance at Tang, he continued: “I dare say nothing else, Your Grace. You have seen some of the penalties meted out for offences against the State.”

… … ...

“Your choice, you men. Come with us ashore and expand your education, but to do that you will have to hide your Yodan garb, lest the locals take offence. Think more on what Stawmead has revealed to you. Stawmead mind you, not myself nor my men. Take a little chance and trust us and I am certain you shall be surprised. This is no ruse to get you off our boat, just my attempt to show you how others in other lands regard the Yodans. I will take an oath to protect you whilst we are ashore and that we will not abandon you.”

“Heard and witnessed!”

The Sprit of Bibek had approached an open, as opposed to a hidden one, fishing hamlet, apparently much like Fanegada. They just wanted somewhere away from Brio and its horrors to pass the night. Volod had, without discussion, chosen the Lower Fanir bank.

Stawmead had leant his voice to the persuasion of the other two who were now somewhat intrigued to learn how foreigners saw them.

“Please try hard to just listen and not speak, however angry you might feel. Right then, we shall go ashore.”

And so the boat moved under oars to the crude jetty. Volod’s worries were added to as he considered whether said jetty was sturdy enough! There was maybe a bell of light left before the night creatures came out.

… … …

“The Yodans, may a pox take them all, marched off all the young men and half the young women. We have nobody with skills and/or strength enough left to catch fish, nor to repair. Just us old folk. The young children have all died off from malnutrition and none of us left have the strength to build a pyre for our dead. The few young women formed a band and strode away, saying they would search for help. Young women! Alone!” The ancient man broke down into tears. “We have nothing left. We are nothing. We have nothing to look forward to.”

… … …

A sober trio of Yodans were in earnest discussion back aboard the Spirit. None of the Faral contingent were prepared to contribute.

“But,” said Tang, “they are going to die anyway. Would you not just be prolonging their agony?”

“Yes, once we leave, who is going to feed them then?”

Stawmead frowned at Kaal, the last speaker. “That’s certainly a possibility, but who is to say that no-one else will come along in a few days? Are you going to be judge and executioner?

… … …

“Do not alter the positions of those lanterns, nor let them go out!” called Stawmead up to the men on the Hooray Boat.

The borrowed fishing boat, the best of an admittedly bad bunch, had then set out into the main river with four men aboard – Stawmead, Maerni, Heen and Kaal. The first-mentioned had been very persuasive that he could provide sufficient fish for a meal for each person that evening. And hopefully, sufficiently more for another day.

---